


Nefarious

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Comfort ft Light Hurt, F/F, Mostly Fluff, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patty gets sick.  Holtzy takes care of her--of <i>course.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nefarious

Not to be dramatic, but Patty’s _never_ been this miserable in her _life_.  Her head hasn’t stopped pounding since last night, her chest is killing her, she can’t stop coughing, and there’s mucus _everywhere_.  Her throat hasn’t so much as tickled in years, and now she can’t even stay upright long enough to _think_ about going to buy cold medicine.  That morning, she’d squinted at her phone long enough to text someone on the team—she couldn’t remember, whoever she’d texted last, it’s hard to say—to warn she wouldn’t be able to show up that day and promptly buried her head under a pile of pillows.  She may even have fallen asleep.

At some point in the afternoon, she stumbles out into the living room and crashes across her couch and has approximately three minutes to get semi-comfortable there when there’s a knock at the door.  For another minute or two, she tries to ignore it.  Maybe whoever it is will just leave.

They don’t.

Groaning, she shoves herself to her feet and yanks the door open, ready to rip whoever it is a new one, but it’s Holtzmann holding a big paper bag and a travel mug and wincing like she knows she shouldn’t be there.  They stand in silence for too long before the small woman has invited herself in, pushing the cup into Patty’s hands and ordering, “Drink that, it’s not good, but it’ll help.”

That’s super reassuring.  She watches Holtzmann unload what looks like the contents of an entire pharmacy onto her kitchen counter.  It’s a damn good thing she’s almost too sick to taste anything because that tea is _not_ good.  At least the heat makes her throat ache a little less.

“I got canned soup for later, but you should try to eat this while it’s warm,” Holtzy’s murmuring as she holds out a hot tub, eyes shuttered like she’s talking to herself or—or she’s _really_ uncomfortable.  Her expression clears when Patty takes it from her and she worries her lower lip.  “You texted Kevin, or I’d’ve been here sooner.”

“Thank you,” Patty croaks after a long moment.  She feels a little like she’s in an episode on _The Twilight Zone._   What does it say about her life that _this_ is what gives her that feeling?  “You didn’t have to.”

Brow creasing, Holtzmann answers, “Sure I did.  You take care of all of _us_.”

It’s said with a weird sincerity that rests too heavily in the air, and she twitches a little.  Patty isn’t sure what to do with it, maybe she would if her head weren’t full of stuffing.

“Also, like two weeks ago you were sorta bragging about how you haven’t been sick since college,” she continues in a rush.  Why did she remember that?  “So…”  she trails off, waving at the medicine lining the counter as she edges back towards the door.  “Drink lots, eat the soup, sleep.”

Once she’s gone, Patty slumps back to the couch.  She feels weird, like every part of her is buzzing.

That’s probably the fever.

\--

Somehow, the next day she feels _worse._   Her throat, which had just been achy the day before, now feels like she’d tried to swallow a bunch of barbed wire, and even the dim light in her apartment makes her skull pound.  When her phone buzzes, the screen makes her feel distinctly like she’s being stabbed in the freaking eyeballs.  It’s just Holtzy, two words, _Status check?_   Somewhere under all those layers of misery, she feels a slow spread of warmth at that.  She replies, appropriately she thinks, with three shit emojis.  The only response she gets—a couple minutes later—is a bunch of components laid out on a metal tabletop in the shape (vaguely) of a frowning face.  Snorting painfully, she drags the blanket back over her head, hacks up a lung, and falls into a fitful sleep.

The knock drags her awake again, and as she goes to answer she swallows the flare of irritation that threatens.  Holtzy’s got a bandage on her forehead and a great big smile.  Her hands are behind her back and Patty’s suspicious as hell.

“You look like hell!” she greets.  “I mean, _I’d_ still hit it, but, yanno.  We’ve established—the thirst is real.”

“Baby,” she groans, wincing at how shitty her voice sounds.

“Have you eaten today?”

Patty scowls.

“If I promise not to set anything on fire, will you do me the great honor of allowing me to _please_ feed you?” she asks innocently.  Too tired and sick to protest, Patty just waves her in.  “ _Thank_ you,” she laughs.  When the door closes, she reveals what she’d been hiding—a couple novels and a small paper sack.  “These are for you,” she declares in an impressive game-show-host voice, presenting the books with a flourish.  “Now go lay down.  You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Staring at the covers without really seeing them, Patty doesn’t move immediately, and Holtzmann pushes her arm gently until she lets herself be prodded back over to the couch.  She can’t tell if she’s more amused than annoyed as a blanket’s tugged around her shoulders and a cool palm rests against her forehead.

“You’re super-hot, sugar,” she murmurs lowly, winking.

“Oh my _god_ ,” she moans.

“I know, I know,” Holtzy preens.  Snickering, she disappears into the kitchen.  “I’m gonna make you more of that gross tea.  Sorry.”

\--

With more pressing matters—read:  her bladder—on her mind, Patty doesn’t _immediately_ catch what’s off in her living room.  She walks past it maybe three times before she realizes Holtzy is curled up like a mutant pretzel in her armchair, chin pressed to her chest and glasses crooked.  Even after that, it still takes her a solid two minutes to figure out what to do about it.

She lets her sleep.

Her _everything_ still aches, she still feels a helluva lot like an elephant’s on her chest, but at least she feels less like she deep-throated a handful of razorblades.  She’ll take her wins where she can get them.  Just as she’s tossing back a dose of Dayquil, she hears the unmistakable sound of boots hitting the floor.  When she goes to look, Holtzmann’s awake, glasses still lopsided, and she looks disoriented.  (She always looks that way when she first wakes up—like she isn’t _really_ sure what just happened.  Patty’s pretty sure, and she’s said this, she wouldn’t feel so confused if she just _went home_ and slept in her own bed instead of falling asleep on the nearest surface.)

“Sorry, Patty,” she mumbles blearily, scrubbing her face.  Around a yawn, she explains, “I didn’t mean to sleep, I just didn’t wanna wake you up.”  Almost against her will, she feels a rush of fondness for the little weirdo.  “Feeling any better?”

Cringing, Patty makes a vague gesture with her hand, “Kinda.”

“First step to a yes.”

With a painful snort, she drops back onto the couch.  Mostly because she still feels gross enough not to push her away, but also a little bit because she likes it, she lets Holtzmann tug and tuck the blanket around her.  There’s a really awkward moment where she feels lips against her forehead before she realizes she’s checking for a _fever_ , Christ, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling all flushed and bothered over it.

Before she’s aware she’s even thinking it, she asks, “You wanna stay?”

It’s the slow, surprised smile that makes it _worth_ it in a big scary way before she teases, “I could probably move some stuff around.”

After three hours of _Ancient Aliens_ , she starts to regret the offer.

\--

One-on-one, Holtzmann has two modes:  trying to squeeze as many words into one space as possible, or completely and almost oppressively silent.  Over the next couple days, as Patty’s recovering—even past the point where she actually needs the reminders to eat or the constant nannying—she can _tell_ she’s holding back, opening her mouth and taking a breath like she’s got something to say, then snapping it shut.  There are a few times when she can’t seem to help herself, bursting with something _usually_ at least tangentially related to whatever’s going on on TV.  (Sometimes Patty wonders at the connection, sometimes she even asks.  Usually, she’s just happy to let Holtzy do Holtzy.)  A lot of the time, she’s sitting with her back against the couch, knees pulled up and chin propped on her arm.

To be honest, as bizarre as the whole thing is, Patty kinda _likes_ being fretted over.  She doesn’t say so, but it’s weirdly nice.  No one’s babied her since she was a kid—and that’s fine, she doesn’t need it, and she wears her independence like armor, but there’s something about the way Holtzmann clumsily worries over her that makes her feel strangely warm and fuzzy.

So, it’s kinda bittersweet when she’s no longer hacking, when her fever breaks and doesn’t come back, when she’s well enough to do everything on her own.  She can tell almost the moment that realization hits Holtzmann, right as she’s handing her a carton of noodles, but in spite of the troubled way she frowns she doesn’t say anything about it for a long time.

It’s not until after they’ve eaten, Patty curled up on the couch with one of _the_ trashiest novels she’s ever laid eyes on and Holtzy cross-legged on the floor, that she asks, holding an invisible mic in front of her face, “So, Ms. Tolan, now that you’re all better, what will you do?”

“I’m going to Disney World!” she teases, voice still rough.

\--

The moment she walks into the firehouse, Kevin gives her a quick, open-mouthed stare, and she can see the cogs working in his mind before he exclaims proudly, “You’ve been gone!”

Abby can be heard in the distance shouting, “Is Patty back?”  Soon, she appears in the doorway, “We’ve missed you so much!  Work isn’t the same without you.”

She’s a little thrown off by how gratifying it is to hear that.  “I’m just glad I’m not dying anymore.  All thanks to Nurse Holtzmann,” she smiles.

There’s _something_ in Abby’s answering grin that she can’t quite pin down, but she’s got a stack of cases to catch up on and a _ton_ of research waiting, so she doesn’t spend too much time on it.  By the second hour of just _reading_ , eyes gritty, she pushes away from her laptop and scrubs her face and daydreams about a white sandy beach far away from any ghosts.  There’s a light tap on her open door and she expects Erin because Erin’s the only one with those type of manners and is a little thrown off to see Holtzmann there.

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” she mocks.

“No,” she frowns, tone serious.  The pause after is uncomfortable.  She shakes it off and mumbles, “I missed you—here, I mean.”

Patty doesn’t say anything for another long moment because Holtzy is _very_ rarely this serious, and when she is it’s important to let her say what she needs to.  When it doesn’t seem like she’s gonna get any more than that, she stands.  Before she can come up with something smoother, she asks, “So, are you gonna get over here and kiss me or what?”

Eyes widening, Holtzy gives her about two seconds to prepare before taking a running leap into her arms and smacking a bruising kiss to her lips.  She grips Patty’s hips (with surprising strength) with her thighs.  “I can’t believe my nefarious plans worked,” she murmurs, laughter in her voice.

“Freaky little mad scientist,” she huffs before diving in for more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This took an embarrassingly long time to write considering I do nothing all day!
> 
> I have a _lot_ of feelings about Patty taking care of everyone like... honestly how dare she be so perfect? But it also lends itself to me really wanting to take care of her. (Also, I have a serious headcanon that Patty _hates_ Ancient Aliens with the kind of passion really only reserved for the kind of person who insults your fave.)
> 
> Please feel free to swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com), where I take prompts and talk about my headcanons and cry a lot.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Nefarious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844590) by [klb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klb/pseuds/klb)




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